


The Ultimate Betrayal of the Written Word

by cristianoronaldo



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 00:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cristianoronaldo/pseuds/cristianoronaldo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They work for a newspaper. Drama ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Since i miss the high school au, I've decided to write this. This preview part is very short and only includes three of the characters and mentions another. I haven't really planned anything out and this part is really really short so sorry about that, but I had to get the idea out there and let you guys know that I'm starting another series like the high school au. Anyway, enjoy and, as always, let me know what you think!

Leo was stuck in an elevator on his first day. Or, not really. He wasn’t stuck. The elevator was gliding along perfectly smoothly, but he was smashed up against the wall, silently begging for people to stop making stops and getting on along the way. He was on floor fourteen and they were only on seven. He’d been in the slow-moving elevator for almost fifteen minutes. 

The men in front of him were having a rather spirited conversation that he couldn’t help but overhear. The tall one looked dumber, but once he opened his mouth, he made more sense: “So, basically he told you he didn’t like PDA and you kissed him in front of all his friends anyway?” He shook his head. “You vile asscrack.” 

One of the men near the front of the elevator looked horrified, but he didn’t say anything. A woman in a red dress smiled at his expression. 

The other half of the conversation, he of dark hair and short stature, rolled his eyes frustratedly. “No, not at all. I forgot he didn’t like PDA and I was drunk, so I kissed him and he was totally fine with it while everyone was around, but when we got back to his place, he kicked me out and told me he didn’t want to see me anymore.” 

“That sucks,” lamented the tall one. “That fucking sucks balls.” 

“I know. And now I have some shitty article to write with that asshole from the entertainment section, and like, I keep telling him what he does isn’t real news, but--” 

“Dude, we write the sports’ section. You don’t really have a case there.” 

“The sports’ section is way more important than some lame ass article about who that fucker from that zombie movie is dating now.” He sighed and pulled at his jacket. Leo thought he looked too handsome to be a journalist. “And they get paid more.” 

“Life is unfair,” the taller one agreed. Floor 10. “Jesus, how slow is this thing?” 

“We go through this every morning, Gerard. Twenty to floor fourteen on a good day. Can’t these assholes take the stairs?” 

“Cesc,” the tall one grumbled, “Seriously, everyone thinks you’re nice until you open that mouth of yours. Can’t you just keep it closed and let them have their little fantasy?” 

“No, I cannot. Twenty minutes to floor fourteen makes no fucking sense. So, no, I can’t keep my mouth shut about it--” 

“You could just take the stairs too, you know. It’s not always about blaming other people all the time--” 

“I do not always blame other people,” Cesc protested angrily. Floor 12. It was just the three of them now. Leo was still standing in the back, entirely unnoticed. 

“You do too,” the other one snapped curtly. He stared straight ahead. The shorter one’s head drooped and he stared at the ground sadly. The tall one refused to look over. Finally, he sighed loudly and said, “Alright, fine, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. Other people can just take the stairs. We deserve the elevator. Happy?” 

Cesc nodded. They finally noticed Leo just as the elevator doors opened on fourteen. Cesc stared at him curiously, and Gerard held the door open for them both. “Do I know you?” Cesc asked. 

Leo shook his head. They exited the elevator and the doors shut behind them. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Leo. I’m here to help out with the Sports’ Section.” 

“Mm,” Cesc said distractedly. He didn’t shake Leo’s hand. “Alright then. You should probably go in and see Xavi. He’s sort of our boss before the boss.” 

Leo frowned. “It says here that I’m supposed to meet with someone named Roman Abramovich.” 

Cesc snorted. Even Gerard cracked a smile. “Yeah, sweetie, you won’t see him for as long as you work here. He’s technically our boss, but really he just sticks around to fund us. Never met him. I’ve heard his voice once though.” 

“Yeah?” Leo waited for them to crack another smile, say they were kidding, tell him it was all a joke, that he would have plenty of direction and help and it would be easy for him to settle in, but-- “I-- you said Xavi?” 

“Yeah, his office is the one that looks like the pits of Despair,” Cesc called cheerfully as he backed away. “Hey, Ger, want coffee?” 

Leo rubbed his eyes. “Okay. Okay. I can do this.” 

Someone laughed in the corner. “Alright, kid, you keep telling yourself that.”


	2. Ruining Lives Is What We're Paid To Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iker falls into bed with someone. Leo finds out what he was really hired for. Cristiano is in love with a porn star.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is sloppy and I didn't edit it. It's really short too. Forgive me because I'm still feeling out the story.

Iker didn’t really mean for it to happen, but Sergio had forced him out of his office for the night and they were at a club and suddenly this guy was dancing with him and it was nice and everything, but Iker didn’t dance and it made him uncomfortable, so he went to get a breath of fresh air. And then the guy was there too, apologizing sincerely and looking so pretty while he did it, and then--

 

Well, Iker sort of fell and landed on his dick and he was staring down at the man’s naked body without a clue what his name was.

 

The sheets rustled. The man sat up. He rubbed at his eyes sleepily. “You’re not going to write an article about me, are you?”

 

Iker’s eyes widened. “What?”

 

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” the man chuckled. “Your badge.” He nodded to the table. “I saw it before-- last night.” He waved his hand vaguely. “You’re a journalist. You work for Blanco.”

 

“I--” Iker’s brow furrowed. “Well, yeah, I do, but--”

 

The other man hesitated. His hand was on Iker’s thigh. “Do you really not know who I am?”

 

Iker shrugged. “I don’t get out much. You a porn star or something?” He leaned over to reach his jeans. He pulled out a cigarette. Fumbled with the lighter.

 

“Not exactly. I’m sort of an actor.”

 

“Sort of? How can you be sort of an actor?”

 

There was the flicker of a smile. “Do you try and piss people off or is that a natural talent?”

 

Iker took a long drag. “I don’t know. I’m a perfectionist. Being annoying comes with the territory.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“So you’re sort of an actor…”

 

“I was in that zombie movie. Sergio Ramos interviewed me on the red carpet a few times, and he called me last week to write an article.”

 

Iker quickly thought back to the article Sergio had placed on his desk a few nights ago. He’d skimmed it and passed it on to Xavi without really making any changes. That’s probably why Xavi was yelling at Sergio yesterday.

 

“You’re David Buckhorn?”

 

David snorted. “Beckham. And yes.” He stared at Iker until Iker looked away. “Sorry, I’m just blown away that you didn’t recognize me. That’s sort of awesome.”

 

“Sort of. Again with the sort of.”

 

David rolled his eyes and plucked the cigarette from Iker’s lips.

 

“You shouldn’t smoke,” Iker said, leaning back against the pillows. “It’s not good for you.”

 

David smiled. Iker liked his smile, though he didn’t want to admit it. He wasn’t really into the whole dating thing. He wasn’t really into the whole ‘meeting people’ thing at all. But David’s smile was really nice.

 

“So what’s your name?”

 

“Iker.”

 

“Sounds familiar. Maybe Sergio mentioned you.”

 

“He probably did. Sergio has a big mouth.”

 

David pulled the sheets up to his chin, handed the cigarette back to Iker. “So I take it you’re not going to write a piece about sleeping with me?”

 

Iker shrugged. “If you think I’m going to do a tell-all about how huge your cock is, sorry, you’re wrong. And I’m not really into the whole Perez Hilton type reporting. I’m not here to ruin your life. Just wanted a fuck.”

 

David looked puzzled, but there was a flicker of amusement. “Thanks. I guess.”

 

“I am, however, going to get Sergio to write about your night at the club. He’ll have pictures of you dancing with a few women.” He took a drag and paused. “We’ll probably find an anonymous source to tell us you went home with someone.”

 

David frowned. “I was hoping for no story at all, but I guess that’s better than nothing.”

 

“If you were hoping for no story, why did you fuck me after you saw my badge?”

 

David shrugged. He bit his lip. “I have a weakness for beautiful things.”

 

“Don’t we all.”

 

+

 

Sergio was positively glowing the next morning. He and Cesc were picking up donuts for the office. Cesc was pissed about something. Cesc was always pissed about something. It reminded Sergio of an angry little kitten. “Jelly or custard today?”

 

“Neither,” Cesc snapped. “And you’re paying.”

 

“God,” Sergio groaned as he dug for his wallet. “What’s got your panties in a twist today?”

 

“I can’t believe you’re publishing that story about David Beckham tomorrow.” Cesc crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

 

Sergio rolled his eyes. “Jesus. Calm down. I’m not trying to personally insult your favorite actor. I work with him a lot, so trust me, he’s a cool guy. But Iker told me to talk to some people and get it done, so.” Sergio shrugged. He dropped a twenty on the counter and told the teenager behind the counter to keep the change.

 

“So just because Iker says so, you’re doing it?”

 

Sergio laughed. He picked up a box and handed the other to Cesc. “Uh, yeah, Francesc--”

 

“Don’t call me that--”

 

“He’s in charge of me like Xavi is in charge of you. The day you go against anything Xavi says is the day I will question Iker’s authority.”

 

“But David, like, totally doesn’t deserve that,” Cesc whined. He was adorable when he was whiny. Only beautiful people could get away with being whiny. “Like you said, he’s a super nice guy.”

 

Sergio pressed the button at the crosswalk, holding Cesc’s arm back as he tried to cross too soon. A car zoomed past, spraying them with muddy water from a puddle. “There are a lot of nice guys in Hollywood, Cesc. Pick a different one to defend because Iker wants this one’s head on a pike. At least today. I’m sure he’ll pick your second favorite actor for tomorrow.”

 

Cesc crossed the street angrily when the light changed. He stomped through the puddles, and Sergio had to restrain himself. Stupid kid was getting water everywhere. “It’s not fair,” Cesc complained. “At least we don’t ruin people’s lives. In the Sports’ section, we write about really cool stuff and you write about who’s sleeping with who.”

 

“Oh fuck off with your superiority complex,” Sergio retorted. He opened the door for Cesc and Cesc started to say thank you, but held himself back. It was a pride thing. “It’s just an article about him last night. At the club or whatever. I was there, so I know it’s true. He danced with a few girls. Nothing much. Then someone saw him take someone home. Basic article. It won’t ruin his life.”

 

“He has a girlfriend,” Cesc snapped. “And he’s a great actor. Please, Sergio,” he whined. He pressed the button for the elevator hard. “Please. Please. Sergio, don’t ruin this for him.”

 

Sergio glared. “Shut up. There’s nothing I can do.”

 

“Please please please please--”

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

“Please please please please please please please--”

 

“I’m taking the stairs.”

 

+

 

When Sergio finally made it to the tenth floor, he was exhausted and angry. Iker was holed up in his office, happily awaiting donuts, oblivious to how fucking annoying Cesc Fabregas could be. Sergio walked over to his office, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind him.

 

Iker didn’t look up. He yawned. “Hello, Sergio.”

 

“Hello you giant asshole.”

 

“Fun morning?”

 

“Oh, the best.”

 

“Did you get those jelly donuts I like?”

 

“Did you not hear me call you an asshole?” Sergio did not like being ignored when he was angry. He liked all the attention to be on him, where it should be.

 

“Oh, no, I did,” Iker said mildly. “I just assumed it was a term of endearment.”

 

“Well it’s not.”

 

“Alright,” Iker replied. “Anyway, about those jelly donuts--”

 

“That fucking shithead Cesc Fabregas--”

 

“Put them in the conference room and I’ll come pick one up later?” Iker flipped through some papers. Sergio’s rough draft caught his eye. There was a picture of David, smiling and laughing with the bartender. He still had a nice smile. Even with the crappy resolution.

 

“Are you not even listening to me?” Sergio nearly shouted. “I have not questioned you on anything, okay? Nothing. But Cesc would not stop annoying me today about that goddamn article about David Beckham. I think we should just pull it.”

 

“What?” Iker looked at him like he was crazy. “Get out of my office.”

 

“I’m serious. He won’t shut up.”

 

“You want me to pull an article because--” Iker cut off. His voice had gone dangerously calm. “You want me to pull an article because SOME FUCKING SPORTS’ WRITER DOESN’T WANT HIS FAVORITE ACTOR TRASHED? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND? GET OUT OF MY OFFICE.”

 

Sergio shut his eyes like he was expecting it. “Alright,” he said weakly. “But you have no idea how he gets. Iker, he’s not going to leave me alone about this--”

 

“OUT. OUT OF MY OFFICE.”

 

“Yup.” Sergio started for the door.

 

“AND LEAVE MY JELLY DONUTS.”

 

+

 

It was Leo's first week, and he was just sort of. There. He'd been called into Xavi's office, but Xavi was on the phone so he dealt with his assistant instead. Andres had been sweet, though from the way he flinched every time Xavi raised his voice, Leo didn't expect the same from his superior. He gave Leo a low profile assignment, just tracking one of the young talented players all day. It was easy work, and he passed the information on to Cesc quickly. Cesc whined about having to write the article, so Leo wrote it for him. He knew it would piss Xavi off if he knew, but it made Cesc happy, and Leo might have been a grown ass man, but he wanted a friend.

 

Cesc was not that friend. He was neither polite nor sweet and the only person he seemed to really care about was Gerard.

 

Leo knew it would take awhile for everyone to accept him, and that belief was solidified when Andres paged him to get coffee for Xavi.

 

Coffee. He was being reduced to a fucking errand boy.  

 

By the time he reached the floor with the cafeteria, he had withdrawn into himself again and any part of him that previously wanted to make friends was shy and hidden and overwhelmed with the sudden urge to punch a hole in the wall closest to Cesc Fabregas.

 

Leo didn’t know why he was blaming Cesc so much. Or why he wanted to punch Cesc-- or, the wall next to Cesc. It’s just that Cesc was sitting there looking like a fucking perfect idiot and Leo’s hair was messy and his suit wasn’t nearly expensive enough, and he felt out of place. Cesc, even more than the others, made Leo feel like he stuck out like a sore thumb.

 

“Your order,” someone said, and Leo looked up. “Your order,” the man repeated again. “I’m not here to watch you stare at the slowly growing stubble on my chin.” Leo wrinkled his brow. “Your order,” the barista insisted again, and he waved the brown paper coffee cup in Leo’s face.

 

“Oh, right. Just what Andres normally picks up.”

 

The barista-- David, according to his nametag-- nodded quickly and turned to prepare the order as Leo dug in his pocket for the money Andres had given him. David turned back, accepted the money wordlessly, and threw back perfect change without even stopping to count.

 

“So, are you Xavi’s new errand boy?”

 

“No.” Leo frowned. “They just hired me. I write for the Sports’ section.”

 

“Yeah?” David looked amused. He blew on the lid before handing it to Leo. “Careful now,” he said as Leo took it from him, but Leo didn’t really know what he was talking about. The stranger-- David-- had a way of delivering something that both confused Leo and made him angry.

 

Leo took the cup. He stood there stupidly. “I write for the Sports’ section,” Leo repeated, defensively.

 

David nodded like he was just trying to humor Leo. “Yup.”

 

“I do.”

 

David returned to his coffee. He didn’t smile. He watched Leo walk away.

 

+

 

Cristiano floated past Sergio’s desk with purpose. “You’ll never guess who I just scored an interview with.”

 

Sergio perked up instantly. “Idris Elba?”

 

Cristiano’s face fell. “Well. No.” He scratched the back of his neck frustratedly. “Why do you always think it’s him? I’ve told you time and time again it’s never going to happen and you’re going to have to fall in love with someone else instead.”

 

Sergio moaned the same Idris Elba moan he always moaned.

 

“He doesn’t even know you exist.”

 

Sergio moaned. “Alright, enough crushing my dreams. Who is the interview with?”

 

“The man of my dreams,” Cristiano said, bubbling over with excitement. “Porn star. Wavy hair, the most beautiful brown eyes. He’s from that one video I sent you.”

 

“Dude, you send me a lot of videos.”

 

“Yeah, but that one really good one. It was like. So good.”

 

Sergio frowned. “The one that you accidentally sent to Alvaro too?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Top or bottom?”

 

“Bottom, obviously.”

 

“Oh, yeah, Ricardo Kaka?”

 

“Yes,” Cristiano almost squealed. “It’s going to be amazing.”


	3. The Correct and Proper Way to Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iker hires someone new, and that's not necessarily a good thing. Cristiano interviews his favorite porn star. David licks caramel off his finger and that may or may not be integral to the plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> important, please read these:   
> at the end (or sometimes in the middle) of chapters, I'll put pictures of "actual" articles from the fic. Or sometimes it will be a business card or a flyer or something idk I hope you understand what I mean. There are three at the end of this one. If you can't see the smaller print, I suggest you zoom in a little bit.   
> This chapter is still a little short and I do plan on lengthening the chapters and going more in depth, but I've got SAT practice tests this weekend. Pray 4 me.

"Why do you do that every time?" David was sitting up in bed. The light was faint, but David could make out Iker stumbling and searching for his clothes next to the bed.

Iker looked up. He had one leg in his pants. "Do what?"

"Make me feel like everything is a goodbye."

"I'm trying to introduce you to the concept of not getting what you want,” Iker replied. He stuck an unlit cigarette in his mouth before pulling his pants all the way on. “You don’t seem to be familiar with it,” he mumbled, trying to hold on to it with his teeth.

“I’m familiar now. Lesson over?” David smiled. He knew he could be charming. He knew he could be beautiful. There was no point in denying what he knew to be true. “Come back to bed?”

But Iker seemed to be immune. He shook his head. “Got an interview in the morning. By the way, did you like the article we printed about you?”

David nodded. Smiled. “I seemed very straight. Not entirely faithful and I got an earful from Victoria, but.”

“Straight,” Iker finished for him. He ran his hands through his hair in a quick attempt to look put together. “Right. Well, I have to go, but enjoy lounging around until they start paying you for prancing around in front of a green screen again.”

“I will,” David shouted back, but the door had already clicked shut.

+

Cristiano was fidgeting. He ordered coffee, and waiting for it only made him fidget more. The man across from him was perfectly calm, perfectly still. He was wearing a thick black coat with a green scarf, and when he sat down, he draped the coat over the back of the chair. Very carefully and precisely like it was important to be neat and orderly. His hair was long, wavy, hanging his face like he was trying to hide behind it.

Cristiano’s coffee came, and Ricardo Kaka finally lifted his gaze from his phone. “So.” Cristiano smiled nervously. “Let me just start by saying I’m a huge fan, so this article isn’t going to talk shit about you or anything.”

“Articles normally do.” He smiled thinly.

“I know. Which is why mine isn’t going to.” He removed a notepad and a pen. “Hope you don’t mind me doing it old school as well as record?”

“Nope.”

He rubbed his hands together. “Wonderful.” He felt underdressed and uncomfortable, but he took a deep breath, said, “So tell me about starting off. Did you decide this was something you wanted to do or were you pulled into the business some other way?”

“Does any little kid really grow up wanting to be a porn star?” Ricardo sat back in his chair, against the thick black coat, and he shook his head. “No. No, it was never something I was dying to do, but as I grew up, I realized my options were limited because of who I am. And so I picked the field in which I--” He hesitated. “It’s not a sob story. I had other choices. Don’t get me wrong there.”

Cristiano nodded, jotting down notes as he went, trying to look up every so often to maintain eye contact.

“I chose what I chose and I’m happy with it,” Ricardo finished frustratedly. “Simple as that.”

Despite Ricardo’s frustration, Cristiano smiled. He leaned over to switch off the recording on his phone. He held up his hands to prove to Ricardo that it was done. “Off the record,” he said quietly, “Frustration just makes you look like a sad little kitten.”

The other man hesitated, opened his mouth and shut it, and then, “There’s a reason I don’t top.”

Cristiano laughed quietly, like he was caught off guard. He leaned forward, still smiling, to switch it back to recording. He cleared his throat. “So how old were you when things first started up?”

“I don’t think I’m really at liberty to say.”

Cristiano looked up in surprise. His pen was hovering over his paper.

“Eighteen,” Ricardo amended.

Cristiano raised an eyebrow.

“Eighteen,” Ricardo insisted, gritting his teeth. “I was eighteen.”

“Right. Eighteen then.”

Ricardo’s eyes narrowed at Cristiano’s tone, and he eyed the recording device. He leaned forward after a moment, switched it off, and leaned back against his chair. “Off the record?”

Cristiano nodded. “I know journalists are the worst people in the entire world and everything, but remember I’m not writing this to ruin you. I’m not writing this for personal gain.”

“Then why are you writing it? Who actually cares about doing a piece on porn stars unless it shames and condemns us?”

“I don’t know, Cristiano said quietly, and he shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

“I don’t understand that.” He paused. “Not because I don’t understand human kindness or anything like that. Because I do. I believe in kindness and love and God-- even God. But there’s a limit. There are certain people heaven doesn’t accept. And there are certain people that humanity tends to overlook.”

“Well maybe I don’t want you to be overlooked anymore.”

“Hm.” Ricardo didn’t smile, but there was a quiet, calm look in his eyes that almost meant the same thing.

“So,” Cristiano prodded. “Off the record…?”

“Yeah.”

“When did you actually start?”

A pause. “Fifteen.”

 

+

They were sitting at the long table, and Iker was at the head in his leather chair, folding his hands on the table with a tense expression as he waited for Cristiano to announce his new story. “So,” he prompted as Cristiano remained uncharacteristically silent, “That story that I asked for… the one on the cast of Teen Wolf. Where is it?”

Cristiano sat up a little straighter in his chair. “Yeah, see, I finished that one three days ago--”

“I didn’t ask for it until yesterday--”

“I know,” Cristiano interrupted loudly, “but I thought it would be a good backup piece in case you didn’t approve my piece about racism in the workplace.”

“Which I did.”

Sergio looked uneasy from his place next to Iker. He shot Alvaro a special, terrified look.  

“I know. So technically I do have the Teen Wolf piece done, but--”

“No,” Iker snapped, “Don’t even start me on this again. You know you’re supposed to stop with the social justice articles. We’re a fucking Entertainment section. Gossip, Cristiano. Lies. Conspiracies. What color underwear Kim Kardashian was wearing. Not fucking porn stars and their sob stories.”

“People need to hear it,” Cristiano shot back, and Sergio winced again. “If they don’t hear it from the fucking entertainment section, they’ll hear it somewhere else, but they’re not going to listen. People read my articles no matter what they’re about, so why can’t I expose them to what’s really important?”

“The only reason people read your fucking articles no matter what they’re fucking about is because you were on Keeping up with the fucking Kardashians and you’re a goddamn socialite,” Iker shouted. He banged his hand on the table, and it was starting to sting, but jesus fucking christ his co-workers annoyed him. “That’s your entertainment lifestyle that gives you this voice, Cristiano. Use what you were given, not what you want to have.”

“But--”

“End of discussion.” Iker started to turn to Sergio to ask about the follow-up Beckham piece, and then:

“I can’t just not run it,” Cristiano whined. “It’s brilliant.”

“And it doesn’t belong in the entertainment section. It’s a heavy piece. Give it to someone else to publish and I’ll put a good word in, alright?” Cristiano nodded readily. “Sit the fuck down and shut your goddamn mouth now.”

Cristiano sat, but he was smiling like Christmas had come early. He was used to getting his way, even with Iker.

“So, Sergio?”

And the meeting went on and on and on, boring the life out of everyone until the door opened again and a small, quiet looking kid with large eyes walked in, holding a huge folder that almost entirely overwhelmed his slight frame. He stood in the doorway for a second, just staring, and then he set the folder on the table and cleared his throat.

“Hello,” he said simply.

“Who the--” Iker straightened his tie. “XABI, WHO THE FUCK DID YOU LET IN HERE?”

Iker’s assistant poked his head in. He smiled at Iker like he was a little ignorant child. “This is Mesut, Iker. He works for us now. Remember? You asked me to bring up the assistant that helped you with the last Hilton situation.”

“Hilton. What the fuck? When did I do a thing with Paris Hilton?”

“You didn’t,” Xabi called, moving back to straighten the papers. “Cristiano fucked her and you were trying to cover it up.”

“Ah.” Iker shot Cristiano a terrifying glare. “Right. Sit, Mesut. And don’t knock over that file or so help me God I will knock you out that window over there.”

Mesut gulped. He sat next to Sergio. “Yes, sir.”

“And don’t call me sir. It makes me want to stop breathing.”

“Yes, s-- Yes.”

Sergio cracked a smile. Iker did not.

+

It was after work, and Mesut was wrapped up in his scarf with his coat pulled tightly around him. His face was practically buried in the scarf and it was only fall. He didn’t know how he was going to make it until winter. He groaned quietly at the thought of snow. Fucking snow. Why did he move here again?

“Hey,” said someone from behind him. Sergio. It was that funny one from the meeting.

“Hey,” Mesut replied. He wanted to keep walking because he didn’t really like people he worked with at his old job and he wasn’t interested in forging new bonds he was going to have to break in order to reach the top. Sergio might have been fine working in entertainment, but Mesut was going to reach higher no matter what it took. He didn’t need more friends to stab in the back.

“So you doing anything this weekend?”

Mesut frowned. He stopped in front of his car. Looked up questioningly.

Sergio shrugged, smiled easily, and Mesut didn’t like him because normally people backed away from his intense, silent stare. Sergio just smiled back and nodded like a complete idiot. “Well? I thought I could show you the ropes with that new story I’m working on.”

“I’ve written before.”

“I know, but--” Sergio shoved his hands in his pockets, ducked his head a little. “It might help.” His voice was softer. “I know what it’s like to just be starting out, and it can be super tough, so I just thought. I don’t know. Maybe you’d like to see what I do every day and it might help you.”

Mesut just looked at him. “I’m a little busy tomorrow, but maybe sometime this week.”

“This week, right, of course.” Sergio was bubbly and enthusiastic, and Mesut turned away.

+

Leo wasn’t really in the mood to deal with the rude barista, so he walked over to Starbucks after work. His shoes were dusty and his tie was crooked, and he was sick of running errands, but that was his job now. It gave Andres more time to fuck Xavi or whatever it was he did with his down time.

Leo was just about to smile at his own joke when “I thought there was a coffee shop in your building or something?”

He looked up to find messy hair, amused expression, dark eyes. Asshole barista. “Yeah, well.” He shrugged and picked up a packet of gum. “I heard the barista’s a real cunt.”

David cracked a smile from behind the counter. “Yeah, well, better time your visits here more carefully because I heard that same barista works here and he’s even more of an asshole because it’s his second job and he’s unDERPAID.” He finished loudly, glancing in the direction of the refrigerator. There was a bang and a tall woman appeared in the window, her eyes furiously flashing. She flipped David off, and he quickly returned the favor.

Leo laughed quietly behind his hand, and he ordered his drink, the first thing he saw on the menu with caramel because David was distracting him. He stirred the ice when David handed it to him, and they looked at each other for a moment. Leo shifted awkwardly.

“I didn’t mean to call you a cunt,” he offered politely.

“I am, sort of. So.” David picked up the caramel and gestured for Leo to come closer. He reached for the drink. “Extra,” he said, and he added a stream more. Some spilled on his finger and he licked it off. His lips were dark pink and wet, and Leo stumbled on his way out the door.

++ 

 

\+ 

 


	4. This Strange Thing I Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iker is still an asshole. Sergio is a sweet little piece of shit. There's a love square. Jumbled mess. Kaka gets really thoughtful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't fucking read this over   
> forgive me

"Why don't we go out to dinner or something?"

David was playing with his hands above the covers because playing with his hands under the cover creeped Iker out, prompting him to half roll out of bed and lecture David about it (“It looks like you’re playing with your dick to the sound of my breathing and it’s fucking weird--stop it”).

"And have everyone see me eating with you?" Iker raised an eyebrow. He was still in his “lecture David” mode.  "Brilliant idea, give me a second to consider that." Iker went back to reading the phone in his lap.

"Oh, come on, it will just look like an interview or something."

Iker continued reading. Sappy shit. He didn’t like it in real life, but it made his “cold, bitter” (according to his ex boyfriend) heart a little bit warmer. _I think the saddest thing about them is the passing of time and how so much is lost over time._ It really was a fucking good book and he needed something good to read amidst all the garbage Sergio turned in and all the whining Cristiano wanted printed (beautiful whining and he had a point, but they were a goddamn entertainment section).

"Come on," David said softly, "it might be fun or something." He said from the very beginning that his weakness was something beautiful, and he wasn’t lying.

Iker groaned. “No, shut the fuck up. I’ve got a lot on my mind and I just want to sit here and read this book. Fuck off and eat dinner alone.”

The hotel room felt a lot colder than before. David shifted in bed. “Alright, fine,” he said quietly.

Iker rolled his eyes. “What, you’re going to dinner now? At 1 am?”

“Maybe I am.” David rolled off the bed and slid into his pants. He tried to disguise the hurt in his voice, but he couldn’t. He was an actor on camera for fuck’s sake. He never expected to have to carry his job over to every aspect of his personal life. “Maybe I am eating dinner at 1 am.”

“Alright,” Iker said like he couldn’t care less. And in reality, he could not. David was beautiful, but Iker didn’t have the same weakness for beautiful things that David did. He wanted David in the way most men want things. His desire was fleeting, reckless, and the object of his affection served only to appease his appetite, not to quell his ever-growing frustration with life.

“Alright,” David echoed and he was already halfway out the door. He expected Iker to pick up on the annoyance in his voice. He did not. The door slammed shut between them and it was only after Iker heard David in the hallway laughing with a girl that he set his book down and dressed with a blank expression like something was bubbling beneath the surface.

\+ David was sitting across from Sergio and it had been a few days since he’d seen Iker.

"So tell me about your boss," David said casually.

"Nice transition," Sergio replied smugly because he’d just been trying to get information about David’s new project and the other man was more closed off than usual. "Iker is just about the most unsexy thing to ever exist. I know you're trying to distract me."

David wanted to laugh so bad he felt like his throat was on fire, but he controlled himself. "Yeah, alright, I am, but just tell me about your boss. Seems like he's not capable of love,” he joked. “I hear he yells at you a lot.”

Sergio shrugged. "He is somewhere, capable of love I mean. We just have to root through years of being a complete asshole to find that capability.”

"You ever..." David motioned with his hands. He lowered his voice, "fucked him?" Sergio snorted. "Iker? Me and Iker? No, honey. No definitely not." He shook his head once more and stifled a second burst of laughter. “Iker’s too uptight to fuck anyone. I don’t think he’s been laid in months. You think he found someone the other night? He disappeared really quickly.”

“Nah, probably not.” David looked down.

+

Cesc was staring down at his computer, and he thought his article was going wonderfully. He’d gotten a whole sentence down and it wasn’t due until the next day. He added a period at the end of the sentence and sat back in his chair, quite pleased with himself.

“This is brilliant,” he called to Gerard. Gerard poked his head out from behind his cubicle. He stared at Cesc’s screen and shook his head. He went back to his own computer.

“I’ve completely finished my article.”

“Well aren’t you fucking special,” Cesc grumbled.

He thought about asking Leo to write his article again, but Gerard, knowing what he was thinking, poked his head around again and shook his head. “You have to write this one yourself.” “

I know,” Cesc snapped. “I wasn’t even thinking about having someone else do it for me.” Gerard gave him the look he often gave him. It was disgust combined with pity and little bit of ‘I know you’re lying to me and I’m going to kick your ass.’ “You know you don’t need anyone else to write it for you. You’re actually a pretty fucking good if you just do it yourself and put in the time.”

“Well I’m an unmotivated mess, so I don’t know what else to tell you.” Cesc folded his arms over his chest and shut down his computer as if to prove his point. “I don’t care about winning best employee of the month or whatever shit it is that Andres beats you to every single time. I don’t fucking care about that bullshit. I just want to watch sports and eat all day.”

“Yeah, but this is the real world, Cesc.”

“Do we not get to have any fun in the real world?”

Gerard gave him the look again. There was more pity this time than usual. “You really haven’t been paying attention.”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Cesc sighed. He stood up to stretch his legs, raised his arms to the ceiling, and let out a pleased groan. “Alright, I’m getting lunch.” Gerard was staring at him weird. He pulled his shirt back down all the way, uncomfortably. He snorted. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Right. Want something from downstairs?”

“Donut or whatever. Coffee. And those chips that Xavi banned for being too crunchy.”

“Sea salt and vinegar?”

“No, the green ones today.”

“Feeling adventurous?”

“You bet your ass I am.”

+

Cesc ended up downstairs, just milling around the coffee cart because the pizza place was too busy. David was working there as usual, filling the cups and handing them off with the same pissed off, angry look in his eyes. Cesc was a little bit in love with that angry look.

“Hey, David,” he said morosely. “Iced coffee with like fourteen pumps of that vanilla flavoring.”

David sighed and turned to make Cesc his vanilla iced coffee. It was fucking called vanilla iced coffee and Cesc managed to mess up the name every single time. It would have been sort of adorable if David didn’t want to throw the coffee all over him at the same time. Cesc had those puppy dog eyes that made every annoying thing he did seem adorable at the same time. David hated people like that, but he didn’t really hate Cesc.

“Vanilla iced coffee,” he said, and he handed it to Cesc. He didn’t really mind the way Cesc lingered afterwards, at least not on slow days. He tugged the tie at the back of his apron. Nodded to Cesc like he had permission to start up a conversation.

“So today is shit.”

David was caught off guard. They normally talked about the weather. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cesc answered agreeably. “I’ve got this piece to write on Barcelona’s last game and I had to miss it for some family thing, so I have no clue what to write, and I’m already enough of a lazy shit on a regular basis that I can’t ask anyone for help, so.” He shrugged. “I’m fucked.”

“Game,” David said thoughtfully. “Saturday, yeah?”

“Yeah. You watch?”

“Yeah, but I’m not too happy with Barcelona at the moment. I hope you forgive my cynical match review.” The corners of his lips moved like he wanted to smile.

Cesc’s eyes lit up. “I’ve never been cynical before in my writing. Just cranky. Xavi says I give off a distinct douchebag vibe and that’s why people read my articles. They’re attracted to douchiness.”

David nodded thoughtfully. “Xavi sounds like a smart man.”

“Oh, he’s a dick.” Cesc set his coffee down on the cart. Leaned on the counter as casually as he could manage. He was still tense all over. “A smart one, but still a dick.”

“I’m sure we’d get along then.”

Cesc smiled. “So any ideas for a first sentence?”

David raised his eyebrows, blew out a long sigh. “You’ve got nothing so far?”

“Well, I’ve got ‘FC Barcelona played this weekend’ and a period at the end of the sentence.”

“I can see why they hired you,” David muttered, shaking his head. He grabbed the towel off his shoulder with a quick flick of the wrist and lifted Cesc’s coffee to wipe the counter down.

“Yeah, not just for my looks,” Cesc joked, and he took his coffee back. Their hands brushed, and Cesc blushed, feeling guilty without knowing why.

+

Leo was sitting with Gerard when Cesc came back. Cesc frowned. He sat down in his chair, and the wheels squeaked. The two of them looked up, laughing, and Leo smiled at Cesc. _Asshole_. How dare he smile. 

"So, Geri," Cesc said forcefully, trying to tell Leo to go away with his eyes. The little shithead was sitting there with his black fluffy coat on and his blue scarf and those puppy dog eyes that were Cesc's thing. They were _Cesc's thing_. "I was talking to that barista downstairs." Leo looked away like the conversation wasn't meant for his ears. "He's helping me with that article over coffee on Wednesday." Cesc was rather smug about it, especially when he saw it made Leo uncomfortable. 

"Yeah?" Gerard moved uncomfortably. "That sounds fun. I could just help you with the article though. You don't really have to--" 

"No," Cesc groaned, "The barista I've liked since I've started working here. You know, the angry one. Real cunt. It's great." 

"Yeah," Gerard said flatly. "I remember him." 

Cesc made a face at Gerard's reaction. Leo slowly inched away from the desk, his shoes gliding against the carpet so quickly he thought he might fall. "What? What do you have a problem with now? I can't believe you're always calling me the whiner when you literally bitch about everything in the universe. Can't you at least be happy for me? Jesus fucking christ, you're such a goddamn killjoy." 

Gerard pulled at his watch, and for a second Cesc felt bad because he knew Gerard only did that when he was nervous or upset. It was his one sign of weakness, just a small tugging at the band of his watch, a tiny furrowing of the brow, and then he was back to trying to solve things with his head down and his hands busy. "He just reminds me of Robin." 

Cesc's mouth went dry. "He's nothing like Robin. Jesus. Nothing like--" He swallowed. "Nothing like fucking Robin." 

Gerard shrugged. "I just know he broke your heart, okay?" 

"He did not," Cesc snapped, and it wasn't their play-fighting anymore. Or at least it didn't feel like it. Maybe Cesc was losing his touch. 

"He _did_." 

"Well I never noticed it," Cesc retorted, and his eyes were flashing angrily. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. He was short and tiny and adorable, but, fuck, when he was mad he was like a damn rocket. 

"Yeah, well. That's because you were just too busy being happy about it." Gerard tugged at his watch again. He saw Cesc looking, and he was visibly upset that Cesc could tell what kind of effect the conversation had on him. He turned around and pressed the spacebar to wake up his computer. 

"I have nothing else to say to you." As soon as he said it, Cesc felt immature and ridiculous and of course he had more to say to Gerard. Gerard was his best friend. They never ran out of things to say to each other. He was angry and foolish, and he should have known that anything he had to say would just harden his friend's heart to the matter. 

"Well that's a first." 

+ 

Ricky was in a mood. He got like that sometimes. He tucked his chin into his scarf and stared out the window, and for a minute he pictured the street empty, the coffee shop empty, the apartment empty when he got home. It was such a beautiful thought, that he would never have to deal with what people had to say and he would never hear their criticism or their misdirected praise (which was more painful sometimes). It was beautiful and then it was lonely, and not in a good way. He'd been lonely in a good way before, in a way that made him ache to be himself for the first time in his life. This wasn't it.

He was the estranged son, the filthy little slut, the man who wasn't strong enough to bend someone over and fuck them. He was weakness in the flesh and weakness _of_ the flesh, and he didn't mind it so much when other people weren't around.  

Cristiano had gotten the article published, and Ricardo wished he hadn't been forced into it. Wished his boyfriend wasn't so fame hungry. Wished his agent would stop, just stop talking. Wished he could stop pushing himself into videos and articles and interviews because once he tried them out, he realized he would rather just sit at home and stare at a clock and wonder at the time he was wasting.

He wore a watch for precisely that reason. Because it was time to meet his boyfriend or it was time for another shoot or it was time for an interview or time to feel ashamed for who and what he was again. There was a time and place for everything, and he was obsessive about finding that time and keeping it set there. He stared at his watch until his coffee arrived. Breakfast. Coffee. 9 am. Drive: 9:30-10:00. Shoot begins half an hour later.

The door opened and the bell rang overhead and pretty girl that normally sat behind the register greeted the customer at the door. She grabbed the front of his coat with both hands and stood on her tiptoes as if to press her lips to his. He-- Cristiano, Ricardo realized with a jolt-- turned away and frowned. He stepped back clumsily, almost like he tripped, and straightened his coat. He scuffed the soles of his shoes on the floor, reached forward to brush her hair back, but she was already gone (glaring and stamping her feet the whole way, viciously beautiful) and his hand hung in midair for the briefest of moments. He took it away quickly, and he hardly even seemed sorry.

Ricardo glanced back down at his coffee, then his watch. 9:02-- time to avoid Cristiano and keep to himself, get to the shoot on time.

But Cristiano was already taking the seat opposite him like they were good friends. "Hello," he said casually. "I hope this seat isn't taken--"

"Actually--"

"Because your friend will be sorely disappointed when he realizes I'm not moving." A tight-lipped smile. The conversation with the girl was affecting him more than he let on.  

Ricardo shrugged. "Well, I don't really have anyone coming, so."

"I know you don't." Cristiano dipped his finger in the foam of the other man's drink. He licked it off thoughtfully. "You're a bad liar."

Ricardo frowned. "I am not."

"You are. You look too much like an angel to lie." Cristiano smiled. "Every time you say something remotely filthy-- a lie in this case, though I know you say even lovelier filthier things--" He smirked and Ricky could pinpoint the exact expression that won the girl at the register over because, shit. "It's shockingly obvious. Such a stark contrast between what is beautiful and what is fake."

"I don't think there is. I think beauty is fake." And he didn't, not really, not completely. Sometimes he did, but he was just saying it to be spiteful. 

Cristiano didn't look like he believed him, just like he was humoring Ricardo. "That's pretty sad for an angel to think that."

"Not an angel. You've seen me. The videos. You know I'm no angel."

Cristiano shrugged like it didn't really matter, like maybe nothing did, and Ricardo liked that, that little suggestion that nothing could ever be permanently lost because of a few videos. He leaned forward and dipped his finger in the foam again. "So your boyfriend got cast in some movie?" 

"Yeah, it's all he's been talking about for the past few months. But." Ricardo looked horrified. "People aren't supposed to know anything about it. So don't even." He stuck his hand up and started to reach for his coat. "Don't ask me anything about it. Franck will be pissed if he hears me talking to anyone about it. Especially you." 

"Especially me?" Cristiano asked cheerfully, sticking out his hand to calm the other man. "Why? Am I something special?" 

"Especially nosy." Ricardo glared. 

Cristiano sat back in his chair again. His lips parted, closed, and he hesitated. And then, "Paparazzi are coming in twenty. They think Franck is with you and someone tipped them off." 

Ricardo glanced at his watch. Shit. 9:13. Shit. "Someone as in you." He stood up, brushed the hair out of his eyes, and glared down. There was hurt and pain blistering in the back of his throat, and he didn't really have a right to feel that betrayed because Cristiano was a journalist for fuck's sake. 

"Not me," Cristiano replied, and he stood too, not looking remotely bothered by the accusation. "Back door," he said, nodding in the direction of the girl at the register. "No pun intended." 

Ricardo glared again, but he didn't hesitate. He pushed Cristiano out of the way, rougher than he meant to, and Cristiano stumbled backwards, looking surprised. Ricardo looked back once, hesitated, and then he was speeding towards the door as the first camera appeared in the window. 

+ 

Mesut was sitting alone in Iker's office, taking notes on Iker's notes on Xabi's notes on-- He frowned. Or something like that anyway. Someone had taken notes and he was re-copying the copy because he needed to get them down. He didn't need to memorize or learn anything new. He needed to become one with that goddamn piece of paper and inject the knowledge into his fucking bloodstream or something. 

It was almost 2 am and he had to get special permission from Iker, Xavi, and someone called Raul or something to be able to stay in the office past a certain time. It wasn't that he was obsessive or a workaholic or-- okay, maybe that was it, but it was a good thing. Working hard was a good thing. Being the best was the only option. And if that meant being an obsessive workaholic with absolutely no one he wouldn't betray to get ahead, so be it. 

There was a knock on the door and Mesut jumped. He rubbed his eyes and, shakily, stood to open the door. it squeaked as it opened, and the hair on the back of his neck was standing up. The office was a seriously creepy place at 2 am. But then the door fully opened and the figure standing there was smiling and laughing and using his phone as a flashlight.

"Hey, Mesut," Sergio said, happily, like it was noon and he was getting off early for lunch. "I left my phone and--" He waved it around. "Came back to get it. Saw Iker's office light was on and I thought he might be fucking someone. I have a growing suspicion that there is a special man in his life." 

"Oh." Mesut blinked. "Well that's not really any of my business."

"That's what makes it so much fun." Sergio grinned and slapped Mesut's arm plafyfully. "Besides, what are you doing in this line of work if you worry about what is and what is not your business?"

Mesut shrugged.

"So, anyway, listen, I meant what I said about wanting to help you get ahead. I know how tough it is to get a permanent position, especially when you're just starting out." Sergio dug a gum wrapper out of his back pocket. "Just take my cell number and call me anytime you need something. You're not here at Blanco permanently yet, are you?"

Mesut shook his head. "I'll be here a year at least. Then it will be up to Iker to decide where to go from there."

Sergio nodded. Ran his fingers through his hair. There was a tattoo on his finger, and Mesut looked away quickly. "Right. Iker is tough to win over, but if you work really hard, he'll probably appreciate that. Plus Iker always runs the potential employees past me before he makes a decision since I'm second in command." He laughed, short and quick and beautiful. "I know, hard to believe since I'm me and all, but yeah." His smile faded a little when he saw Mesut just staring, not smiling, almost a hint of anger in his eyes. "I'll give you a good rec," Sergio said sweetly.

"Thanks," Mesut said. He stared. "Do you mind if I get back to my work now?"

Sergio looked around, surprised. "Right, right. God, I'm sorry. I forgot you were working right now. I'll leave." He smiled again, slipped his phone into his pocket, and turned on his heel to leave.

And then Mesut's half-asleep brain caught up with him and he could have slapped himself. "Wait, Sergio--" Sergio turned around, and there was something in his eyes that almost made Mesut pause. And then he remembered, second in command, recommendations, permanent job, the _best_.  And he smiled that smile he only reserved for manipulating people. "I'd like to take you up on that offer." He smiled shyly in a way he knew would appeal to Sergio's destructive nature. "If it's not too late." 

+ 

It was raining and Leo was walking home beside David. They hadn't spoken. David just appeared next to him, mumbled something about how he picked a bad fucking day to walk home, and they'd walked on in silence. The rain was the only sound apart from the speeding cars. It was peaceful and even the loudest of sounds seemed muted and blank. 

Leo felt too hot in his jacket despite the weather when he thought about David and Cesc going out on a date. Holding hands over coffee. Kissing in the dark lighting of the coffee shop. Laughing over a type in one of Cesc's articles. Leo's fists were clenched at his sides. It sucked not being able to admit he hated Cesc. The only person that had been remotely nice to him was Gerard and he was best friends with Cesc and-- well, it's not really smart to talk shit about someone's best friend. Especially if said best friend of aforementioned bitch is extremely protective and/or in love the bitch. 

"Hard day?" 

"You have no idea," Leo breathed out. "How about you?" 

David shrugged. "It was interesting." 

Leo wanted to ask if it was interesting because he wanted to fuck Cesc or if it was interesting because he didn't want to fuck Cesc and Cesc was pushing himself on David or....? "Oh," was all he said. He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and picked up the face. David did as well, and they were walking side by side again as if nothing had changed. "That's nice," Leo finished finally. "Interesting is nice." 

"Not always." 

Leo breathed a quiet sigh of relief. 

"But today it was." 

And Leo's expression darkened, and he wasn't sure why because it wasn't that he liked David because they had hardly talked. They talked twice and the first time was a disaster. The second time David was charming and hot and, damn, he made really good coffee. Leo even liked the way his hair was a little spiky in places and that never really turned him on before but now he was sitting in his apartment at night and suddenly an image of David would pop up and he would do everything to get it out of his head, but it just remained and multiplied until there were thousands of images of David constantly forcing their way into his filthiest of thoughts. 

"Why today?" he asked finally, with some effort. 

David stopped abrutply and Leo did too. David looked at him fiercely, not angrily, but _fiercely._ Leo stared back questioningly. David bit his lip. "I'll tell you when I figure it out." 

"Alright," Leo answered softly. 

David nodded. He stared for a moment longer and then, "Well this is me." He pointed to one of the ugliest buildings Leo had ever seen. There was something that looked like a faded chalk outline of a body on the ground, beneath the overhang. Leo swallowed. "Home sweet home." 

"Right," Leo said, and he attempted to smile. "Looks lovely. See you at work Monday." 

"See you Monday." David left his muddy footprints on the chalk outline and he scuffed his sole on the head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> becksillas really speaks to the ~depths of my soul~ dn't touch me i'm rlly excited about it


	5. The Self-Destruct Button

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More like half a chapter. Next half will come this weekend. Sorry for the wait.   
> Drabble about love, who loves who, inter-office romances, blowjobs, a rare cuddling scene

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, this is only half the chapter dealing with half the characters. Other half of the chapter will come out this weekend. Sorry about the wait! Let me know what you think!   
> This is some late night writing so let me know if it's shit

Cesc was starting to feel like he wanted to retreat into himself again and let the problems of the world burn themselves away. He wasn’t like Cristiano who fought with every breath (supposedly, anyway, he never really got close enough to understand), and he wasn’t like Gerard who put on his glasses and shifted forward with his little sigh and talked the problem to death (it was adorable though Cesc would never admit it). He wasn’t like Sergio who laughed and told the world to go fuck itself. He wasn’t Leo who silently contemplated things and allowed them to be resolved quietly. He didn’t understand David who got angry and quiet and reserved but never ceased to care so deeply. He could never be Iker who never seemed to let anything bother him, who seemed like a brain without a soul, a body without a man, a mind without the morals and conscience that make it human. Not Beckham either, who waltzed in with all the charm and kindness anyone could bear without dismissing him altogether as perfection to the point of imperfection. Never Mesut who was new and sly and jumped around like he was living off spare and borrowed oxygen.

****

Sometimes Cesc was too exhausted to care and he let his misery beat away at him until he felt like he was drowning and dragging all the weight in the world with him. When he cried, he didn’t cry for the words he hadn’t written or the job he wasn’t getting or the person he wasn’t fucking. He cried for that deep, imperishable sadness he carried with him daily. For no particular reason, he would sit down and stare at what his life had become (which was nothing truly devastating in itself) and feel the sadness chipping away at something within him as imperishable as the weight it carried.

****

+

****

Iker didn’t know how to talk to people. He didn’t know how to tell them “yes” or “no” or “that hurts.” He didn’t know how to not hurt people or tell them he cared. He didn’t know how to be those qualities that make people so human.

****

At the root of it all was his inability to be happy. Even with perfection, he found flaws and he found chains and he found the tiny details that would eventually come back to hurt him. He was defensive to the point of blocking himself in and locking everyone else out. He was a prison as much as a fortress and he didn’t seem to care.

****

Most days he didn’t feel a thing, and not in that passive, calm way. He didn’t feel a thing in that reckless, hopeless sort of way, where everything was spiraling out of control. And the minute he started to feel, he started to fight. And when he fought, he strove to hurt and destroy. HImself mostly, but sometimes others fell with him.

****

Few people fought Iker on things. He wasn’t an easy man to fight. Sergio fought him on personal matters (whether he should wear a belt or not, whether David Beckham and Bradley Cooper could act in a movie together or not-- Sergio said yes and Iker asked “Who?”). Sergio could comment on Iker’s personal life-- only sometimes, vaguely, and especially only when Iker asked.

He encouraged Iker to go out and enjoy the world around him because Sergio firmly believed in the power of human connection. Iker preferred to be alone.

****

Cristiano fought Iker on work related matters. He never budged an inch and he wasn’t afraid. That’s what always set Cristiano apart from the rest and it was why Iker hired him in the first place. He wasn’t afraid of the issues he wrote about. That wasn’t why he wrote, for fear. He wrote and wrote until he was all written out not because he was afraid the world wasn’t understanding but because he needed a voice in that darkness. Not because he feared that darkness but because he needed that great big void of a world to mean something.

****

Xabi didn’t fight Iker on things, not really, but he was the only one who wouldn’t take Iker’s shit. Xavi wouldn’t either, but he and Iker had more of a friendly rivalry that had extended all throughout their friendship (that perhaps strengthened it more than anything else), but anyone with a competitive friend can understand the challenges that lie ahead when two friends pit themselves against one another.

****

It was Xabi alone who served as a constant companion and a constant friend. He was the only person Iker could really trust as a friend. Xabi was too ruthless, too eager to draw blood, eager to get into opinionated, heated debates where they ended up hating each other for weeks at a time. Beckham, though Iker’s secret for months now, was too frivolous; Cristiano fought him too often; Sergio was too eager to help, and Iker preferred no help, never wanted a hero because he didn’t believe in them anyway.

****

Xabi was perfect in the way only a best friend can be. He fought Iker when Iker needed to be fought, he left him alone when he needed to be left alone, and he was kind to him when Iker was cruelest.

****

Iker decided one day, after a rainy day and Xabi bringing coffee without being asked, that everyone needed their own Xabi because Iker would have been lost without him.

****

+

****

Xabi didn’t like change, but he was open to it. He preferred for things to stay the same, but when the time came, the time came, and there was no use making the future a prison cell. He liked working for Iker, not because of the pay (because that was pretty shitty), and not because he liked being yelled at when Iker was in a bad mood, and definitely not because he liked to watch Sergio prance around the office like the prettiest princess in all the land.

****

He loved his job because he loved Iker. He drifted between loving him romantically and loving him platonically. He didn’t mind what they became in the future and he wasn’t certain he wanted a change. He knew Iker was fucking someone and he got jealous when Iker took a phone call and shut the door (because normally Iker kept no secrets from his assistant). He was jealous when he pictured Iker on his back, legs spread, and he was quite possibly the only person in the world with enough knowledge about his boss to know that Iker was more beautiful when he was vulnerable. Not when he was sad and angry because romantic sorrow isn’t sorrow or beauty, just a warped, poisonous thing just south of beautiful.

****

Iker was most beautiful when Xabi could see the evidence of his humanity. Xabi liked him best when he spilled coffee and licked his burnt finger or accidentally flicked his pencil across the room in a very undignified manner. He liked it when Iker was shuffling around for his notes and smiled upon finding them, or when he rubbed the sleep out of his tired eyes, or grimaced uncomfortably when he didn’t know what the fuck to do with Sergio and Cristiano who ran around the place like little, desperate children.

****

That was when Xabi wanted to pin Iker down and kiss him and tell him that he mattered, not just in a shallow way, not just in a “you’ll be remembered” creepy funeral way, not in a “you make me miserable, love of my life” dramatic way. In an innocent, all-knowing, “You changed me like the ocean changes the side of a cliff” kind of way.

****

He drifted in and out of loving Iker like he wanted to pin him down and taste his lips. On occasion, a silent look was enough. A gesture, a beer, a one-armed hug; sometimes friendship was okay and sometimes Xabi thought it was better because change wasn’t always good. And sometimes he would rip everything to shreds for a single kiss.

****

+

****

Gerard knew that there wasn’t a “special forever person” for everyone. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that everyone was going to get married and live happily ever after in a big house with a white picket fence. He knew people fell in and out of love, sometimes with the same person and sometimes with a multitude of people. Sometimes forever and sometimes for as long as it took to find someone better.

****

The first problem with love was that it so often destroyed what it should have protected. The second problem was that there were many common misconceptions that absolutely fucked Gerard’s love life up. (Myth #1: It’s not love if they don’t love you back).

****

Cesc bit his thumb when he wrote sometimes, like he had to bite to feel and he had to feel to write, even if it was just a football match he was writing about. Because it was never just a match to him and it was never just a game. It was passion and brimming with life and heartbreak and happiness and everything that “real life” should be filled with, but, truthfully, isn’t.

****

Gerard watched him sometimes and Cesc turned, snapped, “What the fuck are you staring at?” and Gerard would smile, shaking his head, and look back down because Cesc perfect, in the way only a beautiful mess can be.

****

Gerard loved messes and Xabi loved vulnerability and Cesc loved everything and everyone that crossed his path, in his own way. He loved Robin like every inch of him was a second from combustion. He loved Gerard like he was his constant. He loved Leo like he wanted to ruin him, and he loved David like he wanted to be ruined by him. He loved that Beckham actor like a fantasy and he loved Iker like the monster that both terrifies and fascinates young children in the dark.

****

But the difference between Cesc and Gerard was that although Gerard tried really fucking hard to be realistic, he still had that indestructible hope, that undying belief that he could be the exception. He could be one of the lucky few who fell in love (truly in love, because he loved his ex different from how he loved Cesc and different from how he loved his good friends that weren’t Cesc and so on and so forth-- there are different ways to love a person after all) once and only once.

****

That same thought never crossed Cesc’s mind. He fell in and out of love like the wave beating against the shore. Unceasing and never ending and in waves that battered and bashed for an eternity and a day.

****

+

****

“I just read this really sad book and cried and I feel really fucking dumb,” Cesc murmured into the phone. “Can I come over?”

****

Gerard grumbled, but rolled over. Stared at the ceiling. “Fine.”

****

“Oh. Good. Because I’m already outside.”

****

“Use the spare key. I’m not fucking getting up.”

****

He could hear Cesc’s smile, and a moment later, the door unlocking. It shut again. Quiet footsteps, Cesc bumping into something, then the shifting of the bed as he climbed under the covers next to Gerard.

****

It was something they never admitted to anyone else and even in the most tumultuous of times, they never brought it up. It was sacred, like a fucking ritual or something.

****

Gerard put a heavy, sleepy arm around him, let Cesc’s head slip under his chin. Gerard mouthed at his forehead like the shadow of a kiss.

****

“What book?” he mumbled.

****

“The Virgin Suicides.”

****

Gerard tutted under his breath. “You know death makes you cry.”

****

“I know,” Cesc groaned, and he turned to bury his face in Gerard’s t-shirt. “It was so fucking good though.”

****

“What was it about?”

****

“Ger, we saw the movie together.”

****

“I know.” He suppressed a smile. “I’m just trying to humor you.”

****

Cesc grinned, and Gerard reached out to trace the tear tracks all the way down his cheeks. Rather than being angry that his weakness was being called attention to or ashamed that he was weak in the first place, Cesc blushed like the gesture was intimate even for them.

****

“It was about this family,” he said quietly. “And all the sisters kill themselves, but there’s so much more to the story than death. I can’t describe it.” Cesc puffed out a little breath like he was sick of being serious, looked back up at Ferard with a silly smile, said, “Promise me you’ll read it.”

****

“No, I’m still working through that fucking Virgil you forced on me two months ago.”

****

Cesc blinked. “It’s taking you over two months to read The Aeneid?”

****

“Yes,” Gerard groaned, “Some of us put work before delving into the classics.”

****

Cesc rolled his eyes and placed his head back on Gerard’s chest. “Not this again.”

****

Gerard was silent for awhile, just tapped Cesc’s arm comfortingly with his forefinger. Then, “When are you going to let me read it?”

****

Cesc hesitated. “My book?”

****

“No, your anal discharge timetable from the hospital.” Gerard’s eyes bugged out. “Yes, your book, you fucking moron.”

****

Cesc squirmed uncomfortably. “When it’s finished. Not a second before.”

****

“And once it’s published?”

****

“I can quit the paper and lay on my couch all day watching football.” He could hear the lazy smile in Cesc’s voice.

****

“So I won’t see you at work anymore?” He swallowed past an uncomfortable lump in his throat.

****

“No. But you’ll see me when we hang out which will be all the time--”

****

“Because you have no other friends--”

****

“Because fuck you, Gerard, that’s why.”

****

Gerard snickered. “You have a place to stay after the pay stops coming in? After you quit?”

****

Cesc laughed breathlessly into Gerard’s neck. “Look at you, thinking about all these practical things.”

****

“Cesc, come on--” He broke off, not wanting to continue, knowing it meant delving into the territory that included telling Cesc he was an irresponsible mess.

****

“Fine, no. Jesus. I’ll find somewhere.” Cesc pushed the hair off his forehead and blew out a frustrated sigh. He bit his lower lip and it reddened. “And I’ll have some money from the book. I won’t be broke. Just a little worse off.”

****

“I know. I know.” Gerard tried to still his thoughts. “I have complete faith in your abilities. I just think you should plan ahead.” There was a long, painful pause. “Move in here.”

****

Cesc shrugged like he foresaw the proposition or, perhaps, had already proposed the idea to himself. “Maybe. Thanks, man.”

****

The sheets rustled as Cesc struggled to make the distance between them even smaller, as if a token of his appreciation.

****

“So you haven’t talked about your date yet,” Gerard prodded. He was already awake. Might as well learn all the painful truths at once.

****

Unfortunately, it still wasn’t dark enough to conceal Cesc’s blushing. “David is nice. Like. Really cool. He likes the same music I like. He isn’t a crazy driver. He laughs at my dumb jokes, but not so hard that I think he’s faking it. He wasn’t an asshole when I gave him head and he even returned the favor, so--”

****

Gerard groaned and flipped over, pushing Cesc away temporarily. Cesc leaned over him and playfully kissed his shoulder. “What? It’s not like this is the first time you’ve heard about my sexual escapades.”

****

“This is the last time I’d like to,” Gerard mumbled into the pillow. “I don’t need to know every single place your dick has been.”

****

“But you want to,” Cesc teased.

****

Gerard kicked out at him lightly-- always lightly, even when Cesc punched him hard.

****

+

****

They were a mess of sweaty bodies in bed, so caught up and tangled in the sheets that Iker had a momentary panicked feeling that there was more than one person in bed beside him. He frantically thrashed around for a moment, trying desperately to see who had found out about him and David, but calmed when he saw it was just David stretched peculiarly across the bed. Well, not really that peculiarly considering what they’d done the night before.

****

David’s neck was red and purple and Iker pressed his finger to where his own teeth had made their mark. He made a low sound at the back of his throat, a territorial instinct taking over, something he’d never experienced before. He stroked the bite marks again, hypnotized.

****

David began to stir, a smile etched on his features despite the obvious pain he’d gone through the night before. He moved, and Iker snatched his hand back. Glared down at the man in front of him. Before storming off to the bathroom to get changed and ready to leave, Iker threw the sheet back over David. Threw it harshly, but made sure it fell to cover every inch of him that might be cold.

****

“You’re leaving so soon?” called David’s groggy voice as Iker stumbled into the bathroom, affected by both the bright lights and the sudden rush of emotion-- not emotion, something else. Not lust and not love, but some terrible combination of feeling and desire that made him feel like an angel with clipped wings.

****

“Yeah,” Iker said hoarsely. “Meetings this morning. Heads of all the sections will be there, so I’ve got to impress.”

****

“I’m sure you’ll be wonderful,” David remarked, and he stood up, naked, to pull Iker closer. He fingered the button on Iker’s white shirt and slowly began to undo them all.

****

“Hey,” Iker whined. “I just did that. I have to leave.” He paused as David’s finger brushed his bare skin. “You… you know I have to leave. I...I don’t… have.. time for this.”

****

David nodded to humor him, but stretched out his hand and Iker took it, glaring still. And then David was falling back on the bed and Iker was falling with him, knee pressed between his thighs. His lips gravitated back towards David’s neck where he lightly ran his tongue over a bite. Lips next like ghosts, hardly kisses, but it was the tenderest Iker would ever be.

****

David groaned something that sounded like Iker’s name, and that was all too much. Iker flipped him over and fucked him and made him forget how to say his name because that’s what Iker wanted. He never wanted his name to cross David’s lips. He never wanted to kiss him or love him or find him beautiful. He just wanted to fuck and be fucked and leave all the feelings garbage to someone who gave a shit.

 


End file.
